


What's The Harm If You Can Occlude?

by WhosReadyForTheWorstHumanityCanOffer



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Rigel Black Chronicles - murkybluematter, Rigel Black Series - murkybluematter, The Rigel Black Chronicles - murkybluematter
Genre: Bad BDSM Etiquette, Breeding Kink, Inspired by The Rigel Black Chronicles, Masturbation Fantasy, Other, PWP, Rape Fantasy, Rape/Non-con Elements, Rigel Black Chronicles - murkybluematter - Freeform, Tom isn't trying to be a pedo, but this is when he's already older than that, gratuitous use of commas, he just kinda comes off as one?, idk he's imagining he's sixteen, idk how old he is, is he 70? only in his 60s? who tf knows, yeah this is gross just go with it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-27
Updated: 2020-08-27
Packaged: 2021-03-06 20:08:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,888
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26134729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhosReadyForTheWorstHumanityCanOffer/pseuds/WhosReadyForTheWorstHumanityCanOffer
Summary: Lord Tom Riddle of the SOW Party has many frustrations in his life. Politics, proposals, and pureblooded heirs (or maybe, just one)A look into how he might relieve a bit of that tension when he's alone.
Relationships: Tom Riddle/Fantasies
Comments: 3
Kudos: 25





	What's The Harm If You Can Occlude?

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [The Pureblood Pretense](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/39096) by murkybluematter. 



Riddle didn’t often allow himself to indulge in  _ those _ sorts of fantasies, he hadn’t really indulged regularly since he was still in Hogwarts. But with his teenage-angst-in-real-form causing havoc everywhere, he thought he was justified in letting loose the poltergeist, as it were. 

He’d never planned on this fantasy being a reoccurring one, or even fleshed out past its initial conception, but it had sunk its fangs into him, not unlike his previous adolescent thirst for immortality and power. 

It started like this: Riddle woke up back in his sixteen year-old body, but was still recognized as his political self, indeed, nothing had really changed in the world other than the age of his body. He was still Lord Riddle, leader of the SOW Party, respected by all (except a few).

He would invite the imperious whelp of a Black to tea, and then when his reluctant guest appeared, Tom would spirit the two of them away to the Chamber of Secrets. Rigel would act shocked and outraged, he would be on guard and ready to attack Tom, no doubt haunted by the events from three years previous in this same way. Tom would smirk, delighted in the way Rigel’s eyes would catch the edges of his youthful lips, and something unnameable would be just behind those steely grey eyes. Tom would circle his prey, eyes alight with adolescent lust for the unsuspecting Slytherin. 

A well placed touch or six would key-in the boy as to what Tom’s intentions were, but Riddle let himself have a divergence of plots to this fantastical set-up, if only for an experimental mental exercise. 

Down one path, Rigel would play a submissive but willing participant; content to receive affections and grateful to return the favor with his mouth. Rigel would lavish the young body Tom sported, voicing his monologues of how he enjoyed their mental tête-a-tête, even delighted at the thought of what dark secrets Tom might dig up for blackmail, wanting to make Tom work for Rigel’s participation in the tournament. How every encounter they had left Rigel swimming with a tension he only knew how to deal with in one way. How both were such political stronghouses, for all their teenage youth would seem to make their leadership ill-fated. 

This path had Rigel begrudgingly admitting his attraction to Tom, that his betrothal with the Heiress Potter was all politics, no feelings hurt if the marriage never took place, and a sparkling smile at Tom’s proposal. A Rigel who would meekly whisper in Tom’s ear in their combined afterglow that he would love to be the one to take the potion that would allow him to carry Tom’s child. A Rigel who held Tom in respect and high regard, as evidenced in his eyes, and allowed seen via Legilimency during their session of intercourse. Intercourse that was elevated to divine heights when they shared a mindscape when their bodies intermingled. 

Down a different path, one reserved for the days when Riddle was most disappointed by those who claimed to have absolute faith in him, but still made their own machinations otherwise,  _ as if he wouldn’t find out _ , Rigel was resistant to every attempt Tom made in seducing the youthful heir. A stubborn glint and tilt of chin would drive Tom mad with rage, youthful hormones taking charge of his mental acuity. A Tom whose magic went wild at the scent of a challenge, at the idea of exploring his darker desires. His magic would materialize tools and toys that Tom had seen at stores Muggles pretended didn’t exist. Tom would select a pair of handcuffs, not a shiny silver, but a matte black, and he would slowly stalk up to a Rigel lying prone on the stone ground. Rigel, on this path, hadn’t come quietly for tea, so Tom had had to use all his cunning to bring the well-guarded scion with him. Rigel, unconscious but still yet unharmed, would be lifted by the wild magic of Tom, carried into an antechamber of Slytherin’s design, refitted by Tom for his own uses. 

Tom would cuff Rigel’s hands together in front of him, placing wards to keep Rigel’s own wild magic from releasing him before Tom wanted, then he would magic an anchor point on the wall, clip the cuffs in, and then wrap a silk gag around the still-sleeping teen’s mouth. Another spell to keep it in place, and an application of the imprisoning spell Tom’s memory used on Rigel all those years ago, merely to safeguard this one-time dalliance. 

Rigel would awaken bound and gagged, magic locked away, at the mercy of Tom. Tom would delight in his fear, the quickening of Rigel’s breath, a nearly-imperceptible whimper, oh, but Tom would have made sure to have amplifying wards in this chamber, if only to better hear such pathetic sounds. Rigel would attempt to wriggle free, try sending his magic out, but then, to Tom’s pleasure, would not fully resign himself to his fate,  _ yet _ . 

Tom would tease Rigel with fleeting touches, a hand flitting down his side, gently tugging at his trousers. A finger placed lightly on those lips parted so enticingly by the gag. And Rigel, for once knowing his place, would let the older boy touch and pinch and flick all he wanted, no doubt recognizing that the year Tom had on him would be quantifiable in his sexual abilities. 

And yet.

Riddle wasn’t wholly satisfied with just two divergent paths to this, this  _ thing _ . Seven. Seven, such a magically powerful number. Seven variants on a theme, now  _ that _ would be satisfying. 

So this second path, Tom would again have a submissive toy for his own pleasure. Rigel would somewhat protest to that title, but would eventually acquiesce to allowing Tom doing whatever he pleased to him. Indeed, Tom would sense that Rigel rather liked being taken against a wall, having his hair pulled, being belittled for daring to oppose Tom’s political schemes. It would, again, have Rigel agreeing to Tom’s proposal, if only with a stipulation that they would do something of this ilk with regularity once they were wed. 

Tom would show Rigel just how skilled he was, just how well he  _ knew _ him and all his unspoken desires. Tom would touch upon Rigel’s egregious areas, or not, and make any touch from him burn with desire. Tom would make Rigel squirm with just the whisper of a breath on his biceps, quiver at the ghost of a tongue between his second and third rib, moan from the brush of a thumb at the small of his back. 

A third path, Rigel chained to the wall, would be begging for his lumps, and Tom would relish in giving them. The flay would burn brightly in his hand, and Tom’s magic would keep the captive from bleeding too heavily, and for all that Rigel was surprisingly well muscled, being shirtless would show his natural waif-like body. It was in the set of his shoulders, Tom would decide, that even at fifteen, Rigel hadn’t broadened out with the testament of his breeding. Tom had seen Sirius shirtless at the World Cup a year back, and Rigel hadn’t filled out to match, most likely following in his mother’s delicacy. 

Not that such shallow thoughts would keep Tom from praising Rigel each time the younger boy took a hit with nary a whimper. 

Once Rigel’s bratty and stubborn refusal to submit was whipped out of him, he would beg Tom to marry him, and Tom would hem and haw on his answer, just to watch the exhausted young man squirm with anticipation, not just from the plug Tom ordered him to keep clenched in tight. Tom would give his answer after tugging on the plug, testing Rigel’s resolve on the matter, and with Rigel’s insistence on keeping the toy in place, Tom would accept the proposal, twisting the toy around as a reward for Rigel. Rigel would moan Tom’s name as the plug was pumped in and out of him. Tom, in a guttural tone, would speak directly into his ear just what  _ exactly _ Rigel could expect from any future perceived disobedience. 

A fourth path would have not just one unconscious heir of an ancient and noble house, but two. As Tom, in his bid to bring the Black boy down to his lair, had stumbled upon Rigel and his betrothed, the Heiress Potter, jumping the gun, so to speak, on their wedding night. With two, Tom would still chain Rigel to the wall, would still tease the boy with touches, would still play with him until Rigel’s legs gave out from the force of orgasm. But this time, Tom would have the girl chained to a chair, turned towards them to see how much pleasure Tom could wring out of Rigel, and would know her place as insignificant, as lesser, as a half-blooded scum. Rigel would protest to this exhibition of skill, but his protests would turn into sounds of pleasure. And in the end, Potter would rebuke their arrangement, claiming she could never fulfill Rigel’s desires, apologizing for her sad attempt earlier, and offering herself to Tom as a willing participant to his Marriage Algorithm. Tom, satisfied in many ways, would agree to wed Rigel in her stead, and suggest that she and whomever he married her to, could always come and watch Tom pleasuring Rigel, purely for educational purposes. Rigel, again, would be secretly thrilled at Tom’s decisions. 

  
  


Fifth would have Rigel chained to the wall, but instead fulfilling the role of unexpected voyeur to Tom pleasuring his intended. The Heiress Potter would insist on having Tom call her Harriet, insist on calling the one who spoiled her so  _ ‘My Lord’ _ , and Rigel would be helpless to watch Harriet climax again and again under the hand of his rival. Tom would, of course, being generous with Harriet to experience a pleasure like never before, would then insist on a new position, one with Harriet on her knees, looking up at him while he filled her mouth, happy to pleasure the man inside her, as Tom would gloat at Rigel. Rigel wouldn’t be allowed to look away as his cousin brought his most hated enemy to a sweaty post-climax mess, as Tom’s magic would compel him to keep his eyes glued upon their junction. Even when their junction point changed again, and then again. Rigel, knowing his inadequacy in ever being sexually pleasurable, would beg Tom to teach him his secrets, maybe give an example to Rigel himself of his undeniable skills of pleasure hunting. Tom would, of course, be generous to the lad. Tom would start their lessons immediately, having fully exhausted Harriet while still being ready to go again, as such was his awe-inspiring stamina. 

Sixth, degrading the Potter heiress. Who was she to have such a hold on Black? Why would Rigel be willing to sacrifice her, claiming she would let herself be martyred in his name? Who was Potter to have control over the future of the House of Black so effortlessly? Tom would be sure to break the bonds the two shared. 

A bond could be broken through hurt. An imperioused Potter could hurt the boy well enough, but Rigel, infuriatingly, would still cling to her boots even if she attempted to sever him from his manhood. So, if Tom wanted Rigel to himself, the girl would have to be as whipped as Rigel was for her. 

Riddle paused here, was he really willing to step into this territory? Finding delight in the thought of a woman being brutalized? Well, it was all in his head, and with Occlumeny shields as strong as his, it would stay that way. 

Young Harriet would be spread across a table, the lighting in the chamber setting the mood as somber, and she would know she would soon be punished. With her back to the ceiling, Tom would have Rigel give her fifty lashings. Whether through Imperio or some other means, Rigel would not falter, demanding she keep count, lest she want the count to start over. Tom would rub salt in her wounds, literally and figuratively, as he would ravish Rigel right in front of her, his magic scraping salt across her back in time with his thrusts. 

Then, with Rigel tied to a chair, forced to watch, Tom would flip Harriet over onto her fresh wounds, lick the tears from her cheeks. He would bind her hands together, her body would be only half supported by the table, a painful angle for her spine, and even more painful for her lacerations. Tom would take her right there. He would wring pleasure from her exhausted body, even if she didn’t receive any in return. He would crow his triumph, that he had bred with both heirs, and they were now his to marry. Rigel would take the potion to allow him to carry a child, willingly or not, Tom couldn’t be bothered to care, and then would rail him again for good measure.  _ Imagine, _ he would sing, _ a year from now, I’ll let Harriet carry the newest Black, but you, Rigel, will continue to grace me with offspring of my own fathering. _

Harriet would renew her struggles from her new spot on the ground, and Tom would approach slowly, letting her terror grow, letting her wrench a hand loose, letting her grow a small bubble of hope, right before he descended. Her screams of pain bringing him to climax yet again, he’d fill her unworthy and dirty womb with his seed, then to ensure his progeny, he would be-spell a toy to stay embedded in her channel, to keep any of his seed from escaping, with the added benefit the pear would bring by expanding and shrinking, terrorizing Harriet, as this thing in her would hurt then soothe, until he  _ saw fit to remove it, possibly for months _ , Tom explained. 

Tom would then give Rigel the choice: would he like a toy as well? Or would he be a good boy and keep the seed in him without help? 

Rigel would say he was a good boy, but, if Tom saw fit, he wouldn’t mind a toy. Rigel would say this, then end with sucking on Tom’s finger, eyes wide and pleading, ignoring the sounds of Harriet writhing in pain on the floor. 

Seven. Riddle decided to back off the sadism, just a tad. 

Tom would be pleasured by both heirs. Each vying for his affection as they pleased their Lord, both sloppy and inexperienced, but with Rigel being the clear winner, if only because he had experience with pleasing a male body. 

Rigel would start with his hand, stroking and pulling at just the right speed, with just enough pressure, then move to take Tom with his mouth. Rigel would beg Tom with his eyes, to choose him as his wedded partner, not Harriet, who would be failing, but still doing her best, to show her place by kissing Tom’s feet. Rigel would struggle to fully engulf Tom, and would bring in his cousin, nay, his twin, to help with the length he could not take. She would leave open mouthed kisses along Tom’s shaft, lovingly stroking his testes with her tongue, before stealing a kiss from Rigel. They would swap; her with the majority of length, somehow taking it deeper, and Rigel would devote his mouth to Tom’s manhood. For truly, both fifteen year-olds couldn’t  _ not _ call Tom a man, not after he opened their eyes to what a married life with him would be like, for all that Tom was still just shy of seventeen. 

The two would let Tom draw up a new betrothal contract, let him take over control of their family coffers, and any political seats they held, if only he would marry the both of them, surely Tom couldn’t be so cruel as to separate them now, could he? And Tom would agree to being part of a trio, but only after he was given a full meal of what both had to offer, previous exploratory activity aside. 

Harriet was active, meeting his hips with her own, loud in her pleasure building, she wouldn’t be jealous when Tom would leave her before she finished to mount Rigel, instead leaving her own pleasure behind to take Rigel in her mouth as Tom pounded him from behind. Rigel, so thoroughly stimulated, wouldn’t insist on Harriet reaching a climax, letting Tom have his way about him, and when Tom finished, some time after Rigel spilled into Harriet’s mouth, would lap at her, positioned as she was above his face, as she helped clean off Tom. Rigel would kiss Tom senseless, let Tom take him yet again, let himself be thrusted into a wall, let Harriet clean up after them as a meek housewife should. Tom would take all this in stride, marrying both within a month of turning seventeen, bringing in the new year with a new age, and watch as his followers bowed to his will, letting their heirs be married off at the sight of Black and Potter being so happy at their Lord’s side, knowing he had their best interests at heart. 

Riddle, by now spent, would securely wrap all memory of this behind thick and unyielding Occlumeny shields. 


End file.
